


Date Night

by lonelywalker



Category: Brimstone
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-18
Updated: 2011-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-18 08:11:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelywalker/pseuds/lonelywalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Devil's brought popcorn and movies. Zeke's never been so scared in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Date Night

On a Friday evening in the shoddy motel ex-cop and current reanimated demon-hunter Ezekiel Stone calls home, the Devil is about to do something entirely unprecedented.

He knocks.

Zeke, surrounded by case files he's managed to pilfer from the LAPD using Ash's old access codes, gets up off his bed with a groan and a yawn. It's late and, as far as he's concerned, it's only likely to be either someone looking for another room, or Max desperate to show him the next draft of her epic detective novel.

Instead, standing there, unaccompanied by his usual flash of light or burst of brimstone, is the Devil, carrying a huge tub of popcorn in one hand, and several VHS tapes in the other. Zeke has to rub his eyes. The Devil's been known to visit some extremely bizarre dreams on him in the past, and this just might be the strangest. "What's this? A clue? My next target's hanging out at a movie theater?"

"No no no." The Devil looks decidedly disappointed with him, thrusting the popcorn into Zeke's arms as he pushes past into the room. The evening's show of politeness is apparently over. "And to think, I went to all this effort. I even dressed up. And you just assume I'm here about work."

Zeke is already munching on the popcorn. "It's always about work." But he studies the Devil's suit with a critical eye. "Nice. Armani?"

"Oh, please. I never buy off-the-shelf, not when I have armies of sinners eager to weave the sinews of newborns into cloth at my very whim." A dark eyebrow is raised. "That was a joke."

"I could tell."

Zeke kicks the door closed, and locks it with his free hand before digging into the popcorn again. It really is very good. But then, the Devil has always had impeccable taste in junk food. "I don't have a VCR."

"No, you don't, but the lovely young lady at the front desk does. She said she'd bring it by shortly, since it's such an important occasion. And she was _very_ understanding about your alternative lifestyle. Not judgmental in the least."

Zeke pauses mid-chew. "What?"

"She said you should have _said_ something, Ezekiel. But no doubt you were just too shy to tell her. Even though we _have_ been partners for so long. Sixteen years? That's longer than most marriages."

The popcorn is dropped unceremoniously into the Devil's lap as Zeke throws himself onto the bed with a groan. The Devil can only look around in mock surprise. "I know this kind of thing was very much in the closet when you were married, Ezekiel, but this is the new millennium! You've got to live a little!"

Zeke is rubbing his eyes again, to the point of wondering if gouging them out would help. "You told Max we were dating."

"Well, 'fucking like rabid dogs' seemed a little too vulgar for a first conversation." The Devil scoops up a handful of popcorn for himself. "You know, I do love this dating concept. Things used to be so simple. You wanted sex, and there were only a few available people in your village, all of whom you'd known since infancy. And then there was a contract. Very plain and businesslike. Now it's all trips to the movies and dancing and trying to _get to know each other_. What a joke."

"Ros and I always had a good time."

" _Sure_ you did..."

He's interrupted by a knocking at the door, and Zeke, unwilling to let the Devil have any more contact with the few friends he has, jumps up to answer.

Max is waiting in the hallway, VCR in hand, complete with wires springing out of it at odd angles. "Hey!" she says, somewhere between nervous and enthusiastic, looking past him. Zeke glances around, and sees the Devil waving as he takes off his jacket. "Um. So. VCR! Your... friend said he knew how to use it."

"My friend's a filthy liar," Zeke says dryly, but takes the box anyway. "Thanks. I'm sorry he sprung this on you. I didn't know he was coming over. He just... shows up."

"Oh, I had a boyfriend just like that," Max agrees brightly. "Well. You boys have a nice night!" She beams at both of them, and hurries away.

Zeke can't slam the door hard enough. "So you want to fill me in? You had a free night so you decided to come over and make my life more hellish than normal? I was even doing _work_."

"So I see." The Devil has his reading glasses on, and is taking a good long look at one of the papers on the bed. "I'm very impressed, Zeke. Now, since it's the weekend, why don't you sit down, relax, and enjoy a movie?"

"What did you bring? A horror flick? You're trying to give me nightmares?" Zeke is still looking for the catch.

"Not at all. Give me that." The Devil gets up and snatches the VCR out of Zeke's hands, going to set it up by the television. "I found myself with a free evening, and I thought... what would I like to do? Or, perhaps, _who_ would I like to do. And of course I ended up here."

Still standing by the door, Zeke is more than ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble, but... Well. He's having a conversation with the Devil. That 'first sign' has been passed long ago. And he has to admit it is rather out of character for the Devil to be crouched on his floor, studying wires with the sort of intense scrutiny Zeke hasn't seen in a while.

"So I should just take off my pants and bend over?" Zeke asks, picking up the tapes. "What are these? Disaster movies?"

"They were _all_ the rage a few years back." The Devil, his task complete, gets up, dusting off his trousers. "And I feel it's my solemn duty to help you recoup the time you lost. Also, I quite like seeing people melted by lava flows. Little fetish of mine."

Zeke sits back down on the bed, clearing up all of his papers into one pile. "You should probably see someone about that."

Half an hour later, they're watching a movie. Zeke, despite all of his misgivings and fears and confusion, is actually watching a movie with the Devil. They've bickered over the sound levels, and whether the lights should be on or not, and who gets to hold the popcorn, but they're watching it in more-or-less companionable silence.

"You know, this isn't bad," Zeke says, a peace offering, when they get to sentimental scene that seems to have been included just so people can take a bathroom break. "It looks so real."

"Compared to the eighties, maybe." The Devil kicks off his shoes, and swings his legs up onto the bed, his feet resting on Zeke's lap. "You should see what they'll do in the next ten years. Although I confess I did enjoy the rubber bats and ketchup of the sixties. They had more _heart_ , you know?"

Zeke bites back on his natural instinct to shove the feet away, and instead peels off the Devil's socks, preparing himself for a whiff of foul air and athlete's foot. But the Devil's always been a paragon of personal hygiene and grooming, and on this occasion he might as well have just stepped out of the shower.

The moan of surprise the Devil gives when Zeke starts to massage his feet is satisfaction enough.

"Oh, I knew this was going to be a good evening..."

The sound on the television is suddenly off, and the Devil's flat on his back against Zeke's pillows, his shirt unbuttoned far enough that Zeke can see chest hair.

"Don't push it," Zeke growls. "Just thought you could do with unwinding a bit. Maybe you won't be such a tightass in the future."

There's a sharp intake of breath. "Language, language, Mr. Stone. So, Zeke, how are you enjoying our date?"

"This isn't a date." Even if he is rather enjoying having the Devil completely at his mercy like this. "It's more like a hostage situation."

"Oh, but I brought food. Entertainment. I dressed up. I was even polite to your friend." The Devil stretches out, looking down at Zeke. "Are you saying you'd _prefer_ if I only showed up to wheedle and nag you into doing your work faster?"

Zeke digs his thumb into what he thinks might be a sensitive area, but that only gets him a grin for his trouble. "Oh, that's not it at all, is it? It's that you'd prefer for me to show up after dark and just fuck you without any pleasantries. It's easier that way, isn't it?"

"You'd prefer romance?"

"I'd prefer an admission of the truth, Ezekiel. You're having sex with a man."

"You're not a man."

"No?" The Devil kicks his foot free of Zeke's hands, and pulls Zeke sharply towards him using only his legs. "Have I done anything remotely supernatural tonight? Anything demonic? No. I showed up at your door just like a good boyfriend would, and I..."

Zeke, unable to wrestle free, jams his hands into the Devil's chest. "You're not my _boyfriend_."

"No? But you like how my cock feels in your ass, Ezekiel. You like it so much you've begged for it. Why don't I deserve the same amount of respect you gave Rosalyn? Or Ash, for that matter. You never buy _me_ flowers."

"You've got to be kidding."

The Devil takes a moment to reflect. "Yes. Well. I really am. I'm terrible at taking care of plants. Azazel bought me a cactus one year, and..." Handwave. "The less said about that the better." But he tugs Zeke closer, dropping his voice to a whisper. "I just want you to admit it to yourself. You want me. And you _like_ wanting me. You like having sex with the Devil more than you would making love to that sweet accountant I was to your friend Max. How do you feel trying to explain _that_ to a higher power?"

"Oh, god, just _shut up_."

There's only one way Zeke has ever found to stop the Devil from talking, and absolutely none to wipe the smirk off his face. Still, he'll take his victories where he can find them.

The Devil certainly might _taste_ like a sweet, gay accountant, all buttery popcorn flavor over his lips and tongue, if Zeke closes his eyes and concentrates only on the kiss... and that wiry, hard body underneath his, as the Devil arches his back, presses up into Zeke with a need he can only find arousing. Because yes, this is the Devil, and the Devil can have any man or woman across eternity, and the Devil wants _him_.

Zeke rips his shirt all the way open the moment he can get his hand free. It's not as if the Devil has a limited clothing budget, and the sound of material ripping, of buttons popping off, is oddly satisfying. Not quite as much, though, as the Devil growling under him, laughing, _needing_ him so intensely that Zeke can feel his erection through two sets of pants.

"It's all right," he finds himself saying, as if he's calming a distraught animal. "It's all right. I know what you need."

In the past, the Devil's just taken what he's wanted, sex that's come first from fights, then from comfort after battle when Zeke was too exhausted and beaten to object. But now... Now the Devil, even with his superhuman strength and speed, is just lying there, watching Zeke, begging Zeke with his eyes.

"Fuck," Zeke says, and kisses him, kisses _them_ \- the Devil and the sweet accountant both, feeling a man's mouth on his, tangling his fingers in long silky hair and _tugging_ just enough that the Devil bucks up against his crotch and says _Zeke_ right into his throat.

He wishes he had handcuffs. Ropes. Shoelaces. Anything to tie him down while Zeke rips off his clothes and kisses that beautiful skin and takes that hard, swollen cock in his mouth. But he suspects that tonight, just this once, the Devil isn't going to go anywhere. No tricks. No taunting reminders of just who is really in control. Instead, he's lying back, looking up at Zeke with bitten lips and eyes full of need.

Zeke sits up and takes off his own clothes. It takes a while. He likes his layers, and they come in handy now, keeping the Devil watching him, silently observing the flickers of skin as Zeke moves and stretches and throws another shirt to the floor.

Finally shirtless, he's contemplating what to do when the Devil sits up under him, kissing him, abs painfully tight, short sharp nails dragging down his sides. _Jesus_.

He knows there's a demon in that skin, a fallen angel, someone who can burn his eyes out with a thought... and the idea of taming that energy, that fury, even just for a second makes him grab the Devil's wrists and thrust him back so that they both fall, Zeke crushing the breath out of him. It's that involuntary gasp of air on his face that makes him reach down between them, grabbing the Devil's erection through his pants before finding his fly.

"You're going to let me fuck you," Zeke says in a growl without thinking about it, without calculating the risks. He's grown so used to deliberately _not_ thinking about the Devil as the Devil... at least, not as anything much more than a cartoonish version of Lucifer. But there is real danger there. He's risking the damnation of his soul. And for what?

But the Devil just bites his lip and looks at him in something that might be interest, might be anticipation.

Zeke backs up and rips off his pants, stands up on the mattress by the Devil's feet and takes off his own trousers. "I don't have any... you know. Lube or anything."

The Devil smirks. "Pain doesn't tend to concern me, Ezekiel."

But Zeke _wants_ it to concern him. He drops to his knees, pushes the Devil's thighs apart. "I want you to enjoy this, you bastard."

A tongue runs over sharp teeth. "Oh, I will."

So much of their relationship has been motivated by Zeke's frustration, by his anger, by his need to _feel_ and to make the Devil feel. The only way he's ever managed to knock the Devil off guard and give himself some kind of respite from numbness is in sex, is in kissing that taunting, sarcastic mouth and letting the Devil fuck him.

But it's getting old, that pattern. Familiar. The Devil's never so shocked when Zeke rips open his fly and swallows his cock. Even if Zeke still feels it just as well, that sudden pressure and pain and glorious, glorious fullness when the Devil fucks him hard, that's only half the battle.

He almost expects that the Devil will have some kind of natural lubricant in there. He's not human. Has never been. He could just as well have horns hidden in that mass of hair, a stump of a tail at the base of his spine. But his ass is as raw as Zeke's ever is, and it must hurt when Zeke pushes in without ceremony, pushing the Devil's thighs apart and up towards his shoulders, making him take it all.

By the time he's inside, balls deep, the Devil's cock is a swollen, burning mass sliding against his belly, and when Zeke looks at him, his head is thrown back, hair splayed out against the pillow, eyes closed and mouth slack.

Maybe he can take the pain, but who's ever dared to fuck the Devil before?

"What's your name?" Zeke asks. He means to sound forceful, confident, but it comes out as more of a gruff whisper. Whether he's inside the Devil or a mortal man, he still has heavenly tight muscles contracting around him, and a horribly aroused man bucking up against him, begging for more.

The Devil opens one eye, quizzical.

"The sweet accountant," Zeke says, and thrusts in again, harder. For once, he doesn't have a partner he can break. "What's his name?"

The Devil's eyes are closed tight, again, an expression of utter bliss on his face. "Daniel Webster," he says as Zeke moves back, and grins even wider. "Dan to his friends."

Zeke so badly wants to smack him backhanded across the face, draw blood from those smirking lips, gain some kind of look of astonishment from him, even for a split-second. But he leans forward and thrusts in, grabbing a handful of hair and kissing the breath out of him. "Okay, _Dan_ , tell me how much you want it."

"You need me to beg for you to get it up?"

And Zeke does nothing at all, doesn't move, doesn't slap him. It only takes a moment for the Devil's body to arch up, and his eyes to open. One ragged breath, and Zeke knows he's won. "Ezekiel..."

The tip of his cock is just lingering in the crack of the Devil's ass, letting him feel it, never going far enough. "Yes?"

Zeke watches him swallow, watches the nip of incisors at his bottom lip before he speaks. "Zeke, please..." And, sweat on his forehead, hair thrown back, body tense with desire, he just _could_ be Zeke's accountant boyfriend for a few moments, some guy he picked up in a bar, some completely normal guy who'd take him to the doctor if he started rambling about 113 demons.

And Zeke wants him anyway.

They watch the rest of the movie in a thick, sweaty mess of limbs and hair, the Devil hugging the popcorn, and Zeke hugging the Devil as tightly as he dares. Mostly he just lazily strokes the Devil's cock, with more affection than intent, and kisses his shoulder. For some reason, the Devil's gleeful chuckles during the film's more gruesome moments have suddenly become charming, and Zeke's no longer in the mood to fight.

"So what's Dan doing next Friday night?" he asks, weary and satisfied as the credits finally roll.

There's no answer, no witty response or demand that he bring flowers next time, but there's no flash of light and burst of brimstone either, just a man who is also an angel, pulling the covers over both of them and settling his head against Zeke's shoulder.

And that, Zeke decides, is more than enough strangeness for one date.


End file.
